


Disgusting

by KazeCUL



Category: Deltora Quest - Emily Rodda
Genre: Why do schoolwork when I can sin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 18:44:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4232706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KazeCUL/pseuds/KazeCUL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dain stares into a mirror and thinks about things.<br/>This series is for 12 year olds and I have no self respect anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disgusting

Disgusting. The only word which came to mind. Delicate pale skin, decorated with small bruises and scratches from previous work and battles. They weren't necessary. Naturally as an Ol, he could have easily covered these marks a long time ago, but the injuries would still remain underneath. He silently cursed his body, being just as frail and weak as an actual human's was. It was a small price to pay though, no-one in the resistance had ever once suspected him to be an Ol.  
He couldn't be suspicious.

Dain continued to stare in front of him, dark eyes staring back. Faint shadows of dark rings rested below his eyes, and he wasn't sure if he intentionally placed them there or not anymore. Why were humans so fragile, so weak? Needing to be fed, to drink, to sleep in order to function averagely. It was pitiful.  
He carefully inspected the form reflected back at him. His form. The only form he had been ordered to, and ever taken. This fragile disgusting human form of the boy named Dain. Staring at it, no wonder Doom had taken pity on him in the years beforehand. Thin, scrawny arms, slender waist, and legs that were are delicate as glass. Anyone who looked at him would have thought that he never could survive on his own. He hated it. He hating being weak, being vulnerable, having others look at him in pity. It was disgusting.

But wasn't it he who chose this form in the first place? This frail boy, staring back at him, was nothing more but his own creation?  
_"Find a way into the resistance. Make them not suspect you." ___  
No. It wasn't his choice. It was his duty. He had to take this form. He had to please the Shadow Lord. He had to be appreciated.  
Dain took a step back, over his previously discarded tunic. It was right there, on the right side of his chest, the black hand print which proved that he belonged to the shadow lord. At the back of his mind, he knew that it was a risky move putting the mark right there, where all he had to do was expose his chest to let it be seen. But he was better than that. He knew he could take the risk. He was smart enough to avoid any kind of scenario where that would happen. And so the mark stood proudly there, as a reminder to Dain to not get carried away, to remember where his loyalties lie.

He combed a hand through his dark locks, watching them fall back perfectly into place. If he was looking at himself from a human's standard, he was, quite admittedly, attractive. He had based his looks off what he had been told about the royal family, to fit his role as the suspected heir. King Endon he honestly couldn't care less about, but his wife had been of Toran decent. The Torans were known to be a graceful and beautiful tribe, and, as Endon's description was somewhat non-existent, these were the guidelines he ran with while constructing Dain.

A beautiful, effeminate boy was staring back from the mirror in front of him, and he couldnt help but feel disgusted.  
He was so disgusted that hi, a grade 3 Ol, actually found this weak human body beautiful, and even more disgusted that it was out of his own free will.

Dain traced a hand down his body. Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting. Why does a powerful creature from the Shadowlands, such as him, admire this replicate human body, made only to fool other pathetic humans. The flesh under his fingers felt warm and alive, nothing like the deathly cold familiar with where he was born. Nothing that could give away that he was a creation of the Shadow Lord, other than the glaringly obvious mark in the middle of his chest. For a moment, he pretended that his body heat wasn't just an illusion, and he wondered how he would appear like without the brand. As a regular sixteen year old boy from Toran decent, who actually believed in the resistance, and was wholeheartedly fighting against the Shadow Lord, rather than deceiving everyone for him.

Dain snapped his hand away from his body. He quickly picked up his discarded tunic and turned his back to mirror.  
He couldn't be having thoughts like that. It was too dangerous for him. It was disgusting, he told himself, disgusting, disgusting.

But he couldn't help but wonder at what part of himself he was really disgusted at.

**Author's Note:**

> THIS WAS ORIGINALLY GONNA BE LEWD BUT I BACKED OUT OF THAT PRETTY QUICK  
> I DONT KNOW WHAT THIS IS  
> I DONT KNOW HOW OLS WORK  
> HELP ME


End file.
